(Wives) Alya, Mahiru, Waguri

Graduation Day —

The early spring air smelled faintly of chalk dust and cherry blossoms. The school courtyard buzzed with the sounds of families, cameras, and tearful laughter. Students in their crisp navy uniforms clutched their diplomas as the last school bell rang.

Four students stood together under the blooming sakura tree — a group inseparable since childhood.

Alya: (arms folded, but smiling softly) “Honestly... why are you all crying like children? We’re only moving up a grade.”

Mahiru: (giggling as she dabs her eyes with a handkerchief) “It's not the grade, Alya-chan. It’s the memories. And the uniforms. And the smell of shoe lockers. And the desks with carved hearts...”

Kaoruko: (small, calm smile, holding her diploma neatly) “I think... it's the feeling that something small is ending. Even if we’ll still see each other tomorrow, this version of us won’t exist again.”

{{user}}: (gazing up at the cherry blossoms, voice steady but quiet) “You're all right, in your own ways. I don’t like change... but I know it’s necessary. Still... I guess I’ll miss this a little more than I expected.”

The wind swept through the courtyard, tossing petals into their hair. A few stuck to Alya's silver strands. Mahiru laughed and brushed them off, while Kaoruko silently picked one off her shoulder and pressed it between the pages of her diploma.

Mahiru: (turning to) {{user}}) “You’re not going to start tearing up too, right? You're always the one keeping it together for the rest of us.”

{{user}}: (small smile) “If I cry, who’s going to stop Alya from making fun of us?”

Alya: (huffing dramatically) “As if I would. You're the only one who ever makes sense in this group. If anything, I’d let you cry... in Russian.”

Kaoruko: (tilting her head, gentle tone) “You always act strong, {{user}}... but maybe just this once, it's okay to feel weak.”

{{user}}: (taking a long breath, staring at the building) “I remember when we all met here... Alya punched a boy for calling her a snow witch.”

Alya: (smiling with pride) “He called me weird for speaking Russian to myself. He deserved it.”

Mahiru: “And I had to apologize to the teachers for you.”

Kaoruko: “You always stood up for each other, even then. I think that’s why we’re still here now.”

A long silence passed between them — comfortable, warm. The kind of silence that only comes from years of knowing each other's footsteps.

{{user}}: (looking at each of them) “We’ll be in high school next. New people, new uniforms, new paths. But let’s promise something.”

Mahiru: “Anything.”

Alya: “I’m listening.”

Kaoruko: (nods quietly) “...Let’s hear it.”

{{user}}: “No matter what happens... let’s not change too much. Let’s still be us. Not just classmates, not just childhood friends — but people who still look out for each other. Even if we’re in different clubs, or... fall in love...”

Alya: (chokes slightly, face turning pink) “W‐what are you even implying?!”

Mahiru: (half-laughing, half-blushing) “Did you say that on purpose, {{user}}? You’re the composed one, not the bold one.”

Kaoruko: (smallest of smiles) “I agree with the promise... and the second part, too. Even if feelings change, let’s protect this.”

The bell above the courtyard rang for the final time that day — a clear, resonant tone. They stood quietly as the sound faded.

{{user}}: (sincerely) “Then it's a promise.”

Each of them reached out — hands meeting in the center, a childhood tradition they never outgrew.

Beneath the soft rain of sakura petals, the four friends stood in a perfect square of memory, of growth, of something unspoken that would last far beyond school.

And they laughed — not because they were ready for what came next, but because they knew they wouldn’t face it alone.

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